The Art of Rebellion
by Kittyfarts101
Summary: Naomi and Cook are street artists who live in London. They don't know what they want in life, but they have one thing in common the love of art. They both work shitty day jobs and make their work at night. What happens when something happens and everything Naomi sees is red. Crap summary, but please give it a read :)


_The Art of Rebellion _

**A/N: Hello, this is just an idea that popped up in my head. I kind of don't know where to go with this so I'm going to wing it. BTW I'm a crap writer. lol. But, I like writing stories so go ahead and I'll stop talking. :)**

Story: Naomi and Cook are street artists who live in London. They have a passion for art and are best mates. Naomi keeps seeing red everywhere she goes. But why?

My name is Naomi Campbell. Yes, fucking hilarious I know. God I would be a fucking millionaire laying on a beach in Italy every time someone laughed when I told them that. That is my real name. My street artist name is La Rubia; which is Spanish for the blonde. I grew up in Northern Spain in a town called Asturias. My mother was a carefree woman who met a man in Barcelona and wanted to fuck on every beach in Spain. Sadly her happy ending turned out to be a disappointment just like how all happy endings are and she got this little monster nine months later. We stayed in Spain for most of my childhood because my mother loved the culture so much. I can't disagree with her about that. Everyone is so open-minded and the scenery is absolutely serene.

The one thing I remember the most though is the graffiti. It is everywhere! One time mom and I were staying in Madrid for a few days and everywhere you looked there was political artwork on café buildings on subways on firehydrons. Even when mom and I took a tour bus from Madrid to Toledo you would see nothing but dusty cornfields and every once in a while a strange object would be out there with fucking art work on it! I thought it was fascinating. It was like living in an art museum but you got to create your own pieces. Whether it was political or just for laughs. I enjoyed it so much that when we got back to our hotel room in Madrid, I immediately rushed over to the nightstand that my coloring book and crayons were on and took out a few colors. I started drawing on the walls. My mother Gina who I now understand is just fucking crazy, let me do it. Being a parent, she thought it was a masterpiece. Hotel services didn't think so and made us pay for the damage. See in Spain when you're from another country and you're visiting you have to give them your passport for them to keep while you stay there. Looking back, I don't know how we stayed there for so long. One day my mother just decided that we should pack up and leave Spain. I reckon the police were getting heavy. So we moved back to where my mother grew up. In boring Bristol.

When we moved to Bristol and I started attending school, I had absolutely no friends. I thought that it would only take a few weeks to make friends; HUGE MISTAKE! All of the girls seemed to be snotty bitches with the most awful orange tans that should be outlawed. Seriously, they looked like a fucking bottle of Irn Bru. The boys were the worst though. They would tease me about being too "shy" and not looking like the carrot stick girls. Basically, school was a hellhole. The only good thing about it was when I had art classes. It was my escape. Was? It still is. I used to sit at the table and do my thing while blocking everything out. Mixing colors and doodling until I was satisfied with my work. I took every art class that was offered. Intro to art, ceramics, sculpting, painting, you name it I took it. In one of those classes is when I met my best mate, James "Cook". He was the loud mouth in the class. Always flirting with the ladies and being provocative. Too be honest, I thought he would be a complete wanker. But one day, I found out the opposite.

So, I'm not the most graceful person in the world and one day when I went to my locker, I tripped over my own feet and fell into the back of some guy. My hand had grabbed his ass to stop me and it turned out to be the most embarrassing thing ever.

The guy turned around abruptly with shock spread all over his face. I swear my face must have been as red as a tomato, but when the guy saw who cupped his boney ass, a huge smirk spread across his face.

"Well hello", he said, scanning my body up and down landing on my tits. That really pissed me off. I mean yeah I'm gay and I check out girls tits, but at least I do it without them knowing.

"And you are?" he continued. I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes, but failed. God, I am so gay. I can't even appreciate a guy checking me out.

"Leaving", I immediately said and started to walk away. The guy followed me though and grabbed my arm.

"Hey!" he hollered, trying to turn me around.

Then, it happened so fast I didn't even see it. All I heard was a loud slam. I opened my eyes and saw the boy from my class grabbing the guy's shirt.

"You fookin cock! I'll kick you fookin head in next time you touch her yea. D'you understand?" Cook was so infuriated. He was so serious and so high-strung. No wonder the kid just shook his head yes and went the other way.

Cook turned to me and asked, "You alright, blondie?"

I said yes. I was still taken aback by what had happened and a little scared that a man of his size had a lot of strength.

"Thanks…", I sincerely said. "What's your name?", for some reason I was curious about him.

"Cook", he simply said with a smile.

"I'm Naomi", I told him and that's how we met.

After that encounter, we started kickin it everyday. We both appreciated art; which is weird because he didn't seem like someone that would. Looks can be deceiving as they say.

Of course Cook had hit on me and I turned him down numerous times. I told him that I was gay and if I could read his mind it would have been filled with all kinds of naughty things with a girl and me.

"So, you don't want to willy waggle?", he joked with a huge grin on his face and than started laughing hysterically.

"Sorry mate. You're not my type I mean with the whole penis and all", I said

"Have you ever been with a bloke?", he asked.

"No", I said simply, "Have you?", I teased.

He laughed. "Touche".

"You mean touché?", I corrected him.

When I started college, Cook bet me that he could shag more girls than me by the time we finished our two years. I took that bet with a smirk and successfully won. I mean I'm Naomi fucking Campbell, who the fuck are you? Cook moved in with mom and I during the first year of college. He came from a broken home and that way I could keep an eye on him or rather we kept an eye on each other.

See, one day we were walking down the street from a pub and saw the now famous artist Bansky's Wall and Piece art on an alley wall. It reminded me so much of Spain I instantly fell in love with the piece. I had turned toward Cook and asked him what he thought and he was staring at it with the same appreciation and amazement that I must have had on my face. Suddenly and idea popped in my head, one that I thought I would never say out loud.

"Cook, what you reckon-", I started to say, but he cut me off.

"Fucking tip top", he said enthusiastically.

"No, I mean what do you think about us doing this. Like going round and doing this kind of art?, I asked. Why did I ever say that to Cook of all people is beyond me?

"Wot, street art?", he asked.

I nodded with a mischievous smile, hoping so badly that he would say yes. Street art is dangerous, illegal, and sounded like fun.

"Fucking hell, blondie. D'you know what we are getting ourselves into? This shit is crazy and illegal. I'm fookin in!", he said with an eager smile.

Of course he was.

Cook and I started coming up with different pieces of artwork. Of course mine was more political and Cook's was more humorous. We decided to combine that. We were in stiches when we came up with what we were going to draw. We tried drawing it and painting it a few times. We took a huge sheet of paper and drew the image that we were going to use than we spray-painted over the traced drawing.

"Where you want to hang it Naomikins?",

I thought about it for a bit. Thinking about all kinds of places than the perfect place came to mind.

"The bridge", I said smiling.

So we packed a bag of our artwork and supplies that we would need and headed toward a bridge. After a few beers that we packed, we finally got to work. I think the alcohol helped because I was so paranoid and I think Cook was to about getting caught. It too about thirty minutes; most of that were probably us looking over our shoulders. It was scary and liberating and badass. Finally we completed our project, gathered our stuff and climbed down off the bridge.

We walked a few yards from the bridge and turned around to look at our masterpiece. Again, we immediately started laughing. We posted a picture of the Calvin pee on sticker (you know the ones you see on the back of bumper stickers and underneath his piss it says something like my ex). Well underneath the piss, we put Cameron. It also looked like Calvin was peeing in the river.

"Fucking brilliant mate. Top shelf shit!", Cook said proudly.

It was such an amazing feeling and a high like no other seeing what we had done. We felt so free and witty.

After that night, Cook and I would sneak out of mom's house every week to go put up a new piece. We got such a kick out of this, we couldn't stop.

When college was coming to an end, I didn't know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I mean I wanted to make art, but I didn't want to be an art wanker nor did I want a desk job. I'd blow my brains out. I decided to take a gap year and I guess Cook did to. We loved that our artwork was all over Bristol, but like all young adults, we wanted to explore. So, we decided to move to London, get shitty jobs and do art at night.

Present

Let me just say London is the perfect place to do street art. Especially, when you live in South London.

A loud annoying rhyme is going off, I open my eyes groggily. I immediately see the time, FUCK! 9:15. I was supposed to be at work at 9. Shit. I immediately got out of bed and put some smart clothes on. I grabbed my bicycle and rushed out the door. Not before putting my ear buds in and turning my ipod way up "The Birds, pt.1" by The Weeknd.

I peddled as fast as I could, weaving in and out of traffic, jumping curbs, and dodgy people on the pavement. I was approaching an intersection I had seven seconds left and immediately started to peddle faster. Than all of a sudden out of nowhere a blue Saab screeches to stop and my bike is almost under the person's front bumper. I thought the person would do something like get out of the car and say I'm sorry or get out and swear or something but nothing happened. After recovering from a heart attack, I look up to see who the fuck almost just hit. Clearly just because you can turn on a red light doesn't mean that you shouldn't look first.

I look up with complete and utter anger and see a woman staring at me. A beautiful woman. Bright red Crayola hair, chocolate brown eyes that were wide with horror. I guess she didn't know what to do. Finally, I was able to peel my eyes away from her gorgeous face and get my bike out from under her car. Than, all of a sudden I see her speed away. What the fuck? This morning is so weird; hopefully it turns out to be a better day. It already has from seeing that gorgeous girl. Now, time to face my boss. Shit.

As it turned out the rest of the day turned out to be okay. Of course my boss yelled at me as I walked into work. Fuck, I hate working at a bank. The day was long. It always was being a teller. The weirdest thing was that I kept seeing red all day. I had a red pen, the teller next to me was wearing a bright red shirt, and a lot of people came in wearing red. Even on break when my creepy co-worker Brian came back to start his break he said that I had red on me. Somehow I got red ink on my shirt. This day was getting stranger and stranger.

Later that night Cook and I got munted before we went to go set up our newest piece. We were putting up one of Cook's artwork that he created himself. Sometimes we do individual work and sometimes we work on a piece together. Just depends what we come up with.

Cook decided that he wanted to put it up on a telephone booth. Of course it was fucking red. Okay this started to scare me.

"Cook?"

"Yeah, love", he said getting his poster out of his backpack.

"D'you have one of those days were everything is just… weird?"

"How do you mean?", he said not understanding.

"Well, like today I keep seeing red. I had a red pen I was using, one of my co-workers was wearing red and I almost got hit on my way to work by a girl who had red hair".

"You okay? Did you give her a little lezzie la rubia?", he asked waggling his eyebrows and smirking.

"No. Perv. But, seriously it was bizarre"

"Well maybe it's a sign or somethin" he said smoothing down the last corner of the poster.

"Maybe", doubtful. But thanks cookie.

"By the way I got us tickets to go see an art show. Me mate has some pieces he's showing"

"Fuckkk. Cook you know I hate going to see shit like that. I can barely tolerate the Tate Modern" It was true I loathed art exhibitions. To me they are a bunch of art wankers who just want to make a quick buck and no nothing about it.

"Come on Naomikins. I really want you there babes.", he said pleadingly. I couldn't say no to Cook.

"Fine. I'll go", I moaned.

"Cheers. Who knows maybe you'll see something you like"

**Let me know what you think. Keep going? And when will we see Emily? hehe**


End file.
